


(I'm Giving You) the Pleasure of Heaven

by Baebadook



Series: Save a horse (Ride a cowboy) trilogy [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series), UnDeadwood (Web Series)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Breaking Celibacy Vows, First Kiss, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Not Beta Read, Religious Conflict, UnDeadwood, Western Gothic, the briefest of mentions of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-03 14:10:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21180746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baebadook/pseuds/Baebadook
Summary: He hovers there between his legs, and clears his throat. "We don't have to do anything you don't want to." He feels the need to clarify, to smooth out some of those worry lines prominent across the Reverend's forehead.Maybe it works, because Matthew licks at his chapped lips and says- "I want this. God help me, I do." And meets him the rest of the way.





	(I'm Giving You) the Pleasure of Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> Listen liSTEN... You know what you're here for, it says it right on the tin. I have no excuses akhd.
> 
> Title is from the song Hotter Than Hell by Dua Lipa, a song I think fits this pair quite well.

“Are you sure about this Reverend?” Clayton asks. He feels like he’s asked that question several times in the span of an hour but really he can’t be blamed for it. It’s not everyday your local Reverend knocks on your inn room door in the middle of the night, red faced and asking for advice. Not everyday he’s looked so stricken- afraid. Confessing to feeling _ desires_, and _ sexual temptations _ he just can’t seem to shake.

He’d almost laughed, taken it as a joke. Maybe something Aly had cooked up and coerced him into. But the way the Reverend holds onto his cross like a lifeline, the severe expression on his face and he knows it’s not. Not a situation that he’d take lightly.

“I am.” The first time he says it his voice quakes, so he tries again. “I am.”

Clayton shifts from foot to foot, utterly thrown by these events. This is certainly one of the most bizarre situations he’s ever been in, and considering all the shit they’ve gotten into over the course of their partnership that’s _ really _ saying something.

“What uh.” He clears his throat awkwardly. “What happens if you break your Vow?”

If anything Matthew shutters in on himself more, and he dully regrets even uttering the words in the first place. His cross creaks ominously, and Clayton wonders how much pressure it can handle before it succumbs to the strain.

“I don’t rightly know.” He breathes. He sucks in a deep breath and releases it, looks like he’s ready to bolt out the nearest exit. And considering Clayton’s standing in front of the door that only leaves the window. And well, that’s not ideal.

“I’m sorry for wasting your time Clayton, I’m just going to go-” Matthew takes a step forward, clearly ready to breeze right past him.

“Now hold on for a minute, let’s talk about this.” He holds out a hand in a hopefully placating gesture, not unlike when he tries to calm a particularly spooked horse. And Matthew kinda looks like that now, strained and pent up with nerves. “Why don’t you take a seat n’ take a breath?”

Rather reluctantly Matthew does as he’s told, sitting at the edge of the bed. It squeaks under the added weight. He’d had yet to extinguish the lantern in his room before the Reverend showed up, and the fire flickers and bathes the room in it’s orange glow. He rather thinks it’s a good look on Matthew, conflictions aside.

“If this is something that you want it can be done.” He winces internally. He can understand Matthew’s hesitance to bring this up with one of the others, but he’s by no means the proper person to consult about this. “I’m sure we could work something out with one of the local ladies. Something with discretion put in place.”

“That’s uh- that’s rather.” Matthew coughs, chokes really, as he struggles to properly speak. “I appreciate the offer but it’s not. Not exactly what I had in mind.”

“What did you have in mind, then?” Clayton asks, faintly aware that his pulse has increased under his skin.

Matthew clears his throat again, avoids his gaze. “I thought that maybe. Uh maybe that you…” He trails off. If possible, his flushed face turns an even deeper shade of red, bringing out the scar dashed across his cheek even more. It’s a more attractive look on him than it has any right to be.

He realizes then, with a jolt, just what he’s asking. 

“You want to have sex with me.” Surely, he’s misunderstood. Perhaps he’s fallen off his horse one too many times. Maybe he’s landed himself ass over teakettle in another fuckin' dimension entirely. Because _ surely _ that’s not what the good ol Reverend is insinuating.

“I was just under the impression that you were not- adverse to the idea. Did I misunderstand?” Matthew bites at his bottom lip, and his eyes track the movement. He swallows.

With mortification he can feel his own cheeks grow warm at the words. The thing about it is, that he’s not misunderstood.

Clayton is a simple man with simple needs. You get to be on the road with people long enough and sometimes these things just happen. It doesn't help matters that the Reverend is incredibly easy on the eyes. Built sturdier than any holy man he’s ever seen, that’s for damn sure. Hell even Aly is incredibly attractive. No doubts about it.

He wonders if he’s been overly transparent in his ah, looks, or if Matthew is just incredibly observant. Has seen something in his rare fleeting grins, the passive blankness he presents to everyone around him.

And it’s not like he hasn’t had the thought before. He’s just a man. He can remember certain times, quite vividly in fact, that he’s roused in the morning. Cock hard in his trousers as the Reverend’s voice faded from his dreams, gasping and pleading him for release.

Spilling over his own fist hard and fast, biting into the flesh of his lip so severely it’s a wonder it doesn’t break the skin. Only for the acute sense of dread and guilt that chases away his euphoria. He knows it isn’t right to think of a man of the cloth in that way, but here they are. Here they are indeed.

“You’re not wrong.” He finally says, voice gruff. Matthew pauses his fidgeting to look at him, really look at him, and this time he’s the one to break eye contact first. His skin feels incredibly warm under his scrutinizing gaze. “You’re not concerned?” He asks before he can really stop himself.

“About what?”

“About what the bible says? Bein’ two men and all.” He doesn’t put much stock in the book’s words, doesn’t really care for half of what it says. But this is Matthew. The last thing he wants is to add on to his stress, his confusion, but he burns with curiosity. Curious as to what he’s thinking, about what has brought this on so suddenly. What’s led them to this exact moment, in this shithole of an inn, in an equally shithole of a town.

“Oh. That.” Matthew’s throat works and he’s silent for a moment. Clayton waits. “I think. That the bible should be followed, but. That there are certain things that should be…” He thinks over his next words with the utmost of care. “Modified. Times, well, times are changing. People are changing.” He looks down at his cross, threads the beads between his fingers. “I don’t think it’s right to turn anyone away from God on account of their feelings. Especially considering this.” He chuckles lightly, even if it sounds strained.

Clayton is of the belief that Matthew is unique.

He’s distanced himself far away from religion as much as possible, avoided churches and white collars like the plague when he can. But he’s seen his share of sermons. Where any other clergymen would yell and bark about sin, about fire and brimstone and eternal damnation, Reverend Mason is quiet. Gentle, almost. Passionate, but patient. He doesn’t condemn his flock for their every action, doesn’t force their penance for all to hear. He speaks of God’s love, confident behind a pulpit where he isn’t anywhere else. He listens to their worries, to their doubts, and offers kind words and advice in turn. He almost makes the thought of going to church tolerable. Almost.

“And you’re sure?” He asks one final time. Gives him one more out.

“Yes. I’ve- I’ve done a lot of things in my lifetime. Things a lot worse than this.”

“Alright.” He doesn’t ask. It’s not his business to. He simply turns and shifts the lock on his door firmly into place. Looks back to the Reverend still perched on his bed, back ramrod straight. He’s out of his clerical vestments for once, already dressed in clothes for sleep. It’s an unusual, but welcoming sight. A sudden thought occurs to him.

“Have you ever kissed anyone before Reverend?” He thinks he knows the answer to that inquiry but he has to ask. 

Matthew shakes his head slowly, breaks eye contact to look down at the dirty patterned rug stretched across warped floorboards.

“Alright, well how’s about we start from there and work our way up if you’re so inclined? No need to get the cart before the horses as it were.” 

“Uh, right. Yes, we can do that.” He says faintly.

“Alright.”

There’s a part of him that still can’t believe this is happening, that of all people to go to, he went to him. He supposes it’s better this way- better that it’s someone he knows as opposed to a random girl at the house of lady favors that might have loose lips.

In all senses of the word, Matthew is far too good for someone like Clayton. He corrupts everything he touches, and he doesn't fancy adding him to that list. Arguably though, the Reverend isn't as innocent as one might think. He's seen it for himself, in splatters of blood across his stark white collar and shaking hands gripping the barrel of a shotgun.

It's like what the Reverend said, really: what's one more sin to the pile?

He pushes these thoughts from his mind for now and strides over to the bed where Matthew is sitting. He looks so unsure of himself, so out of place. It's not necessarily a new look on him by any means but it still gives him pause.

He hovers there between his legs, and clears his throat. "We don't have to do anything you don't want to." He feels the need to clarify, to smooth out some of those worry lines prominent across the Reverend's forehead.

Maybe it works, because Matthew licks at his chapped lips and says- "I want this. God help me, I do." And meets him the rest of the way.

His inexperience is, well, it's there. But he has to chuckle into the kiss and give him credit where credit is due. He’s got balls, there’s no doubt about it. They remain still for a moment, kissing slowly and steadily to accommodate him to the feeling of it. Clayton places a gloved hand at the back of his head and guides him through the motions. He’s receptive to every slide of their lips, and outright _ moans _when he slips his tongue into his mouth. The noises go straight to his dick, already half hard in the confines of his trousers, and he breaks the kiss only when oxygen becomes an issue.

Matthew looks dazed, to say the least, the red of his cheeks seemingly a permanent fixture now and he can’t help but chuckle.

“You doing alright there Father? You’re lookin' mighty red.”

“You’re incorrigible, Clayton. Truly.”

“I take it to mean that you enjoyed yourself.” Another clue is the slight bulge in his pants, and Clayton? Well he _ yearns_.

“I did indeed.” 

"Then I don't suppose you'd like to continue further, or did that satiate any of your curiosities?" While he'd love nothing more than to pick up where they left off, this is a precarious situation. Matthew is a skittish thing, and he'd be just as well to end it here and pretend it never happened.

"I think-" Matthew breaks off to suck in a deep breath before releasing it. "That I'd be amiable for more. Only if you were willing of course." _ Amiable_, Christ.

"Oh, willing is my middle name." He says with a cheeky grin, and then. “Do you trust me?”

“With my life.” Is the immediate reply. It’s said so bluntly, the Reverend looks at him with such certainty that it must be true and. Clayton doesn’t know what to do with this information. It was a rhetorical question at best and a joke at worst. He’s done things- horrible things in life. Has given him and the others plenty of reasons not to trust him. To cast him out like they rightfully should.

And yet.

And yet.

He swallows hard, spit hot with all his shame and guilt, and pulls his expression into that of a shaky smirk.

“Well good, because I’ve been dreamin’ about gettin’ my lips on that pretty cock of yours.”

The surprised noises the good Father makes are a welcome distraction from his thoughts and is so, so very worth it. He sinks to his knees in front of the man. Thinks about how many people must do this very thing every week, just in a _ very _different way, and this time his smirk is genuine.

He goes to work with releasing him from his pants and basks further in the noises it elicits. He's barely touched him yet, just feather light touches and hints of grasps and he's already so key'd up from it. He inhales sharply when his prize is revealed. Just like the rest of him, Matthew is...well proportioned, in all the right places. It's a damn shame, really, that he has to keep all of this for god. Oh the fantasies he has. Sinking down onto that cock and groaning at being filled completely. Pressing into the Reverend's body and drawing out more of those wonderful sounds. Maybe, _g__od willing_, they'll get to play out more of these sessions in the future. If the good Reverend is susceptible to the idea.

He looks up, and up, to Matthew's face. He's got his fingers curled so tightly in the sheets his knuckles are white, eyes shut tight. His cross lay abandoned somewhere in the covers.

"Matthew. Look at me." He goads gently. He wants to see those pretty eyes of his, see his expression go lax under his ministrations. And above all else, he wants to know that he's getting just as much of the pleasure out of this that he is.

Slowly but surely Matthew complies, that beautiful flush still high and prominent on his cheekbones. He looks down to him, Adam's apple bobbing as he takes in the image of Clayton on his knees in front of his stiff cock.  
  
“You good up there?”

“Clayton, I- _ please_.”

He gets the gist of what he’s asking for and smiles. “Don’t worry darlin', I got you.” 

He starts off slow, breath ghosting over his cock. Let's out a huff of laughter when Matthew whines at the sensation. Then he takes him in his mouth, swirls his tongue across the head. This ain't his first rodeo, but it sure is Matthew's- the reaction is instant. 

"Je-sus _ wept_." He bites out, eyes so incredibly wide it's a wonder they're still in his head. Clayton has to admit, it's a wonderful stroke to his ego. To be able to pull these unfamiliar sounds out of him and leave him shaking. So much for the Son, the Father, and the Holy Spirit.

Indeed, he can feel the way Matthew's thighs tremble on either side of his head. The way his whole body is, in fact. Matthew lets out a choked, muffled sound- a whimper, and for a horrible, gut punching second Clayton thinks that he's crying. That he's done something wrong or taken it too far.

He looks up and Matthew bites his lip. To cover up the fact that he's laughing, he realizes.

"And just what is so damn funny?" He grumbles, tries to cover up his spike of fear.

"Your uh, your mustache tickles."

He grunts and doesn't even dignify that with a response- he just flips him the bird and tries not to feel warm when Matthew laughs again. Whimsical and beautiful. He gets his revenge by hollowing his cheeks and sucking hard, and Matthew's laugh breaks off into another deep moan. He almost thinks to warn him about that. The walls in this inn can't be as solid as one would hope.

And Matthew seems to realize this as well and bites at his fist to mask his noises. Clayton feels a thrill rush through at the image. The thought that _ he _ can tear him asunder this way. He’d love to hear those pretty noises at full capacity. Make him shout until he’s hoarse and unable to spread the good word.

He tastes the sharpness of pre-come on his tongue as he bobs his head, breathes through his nose. Takes as much of him in his mouth as he can and moans deep. High on the sensation, the tug and pull of his lips wrapped around him. The heady taste of him.

He can tell that he’s close already, in the way that his breath stutters, his stomach quivers. In response he doubles down on his efforts, wraps a hand around the base of his shaft and gives a gentle squeeze. His other hand grips hard at Matthew’s thigh, holding him there. He’s not as strong as the Reverend may be, but he hopes he leaves bruises on his skin. Marks him where nobody can see, where nobody will know. Nobody but him. Clayton himself is hard, painfully so in his pants but he makes no moves to relieve the tension. This isn’t about him, not now. And truth be told he could probably get off on just this. Could watch him fall apart all day. 

Fuck God, he thinks idly to himself- enraptured in the way that Matthew tilts his head back and gasps, pupils blown wide- Reverend Matthew Mason is the one that should be worshiped. Spread out amongst the sheets and _ lavished _ until he’s writhing and spent. Utterly wrecked and shuddering through release. He’s not a religious man himself- it doesn’t take a genius to figure that out. But he’d gladly kneel at Matthew’s feet at any given moment.

“Clayton.” Matthew says, voice frayed. A warning if he’s ever heard one. He rubs at his balls with his fingers, slides his tongue across the slit of his cock, and Matthew is coming down his throat with a strangled gasp. He swallows as much as he can, feels some trickle out the corner of his mouth. He sucks him through orgasm until he’s whimpering and over sensitive, hips canting forwards in jerky motions.

Clayton slides him out of his mouth with a lewd pop and he sits back on his hind legs, wipes the trail of seed off his chin.

Matthew doesn’t speak for a while, collapsed on the sheets and breathing hard like he had just been running with the devil himself on his heels.

“You doin’ alright up there?” He asks. His voice is mangled and raw.

“I think so.”

He laughs and stands, legs a bit uneven below him. Matthew isn’t doing much better in that regard. He sits up once more, arms trembling as he does. He looks to Clayton with something like awe on his face, and Clayton grins.

“I’m glad to hear it.”

Matthew’s eyes track over him, further down and he clears his throat. “You um. You’re.”

“Yeah, don’t worry about me. I can take care of it later.”

Matthew’s hand twitches where it’s still loosely tangled in the sheets, almost like he wants to reach out and touch him.

“May I?” He pauses, like he doesn’t quite know what he’s asking for.

Unexpectedly he feels another rush of warmth for this man, so earnest and open and kind. He stamps it down and waves him off with a lazy hand.

“You don’t need to do that.”

“I want to.”

Well, if he wants it that damn badly. When in Rome, he supposes. “Fine. Alright. Scooch back a little won’t ya?” The bed creaks once more as he scrambles to comply, and Clayton undoes his belt. Opens his fly. And then with a moment of hesitation he joins him in bed, climbs until he’s perched neatly in Matthew’s lap with his thighs on either side of his legs. He pulls himself out of his knickers fully and hisses at the touch, at the cool air hitting him. Pleasure coils heavy in his gut. His dick stands at attention in between them, already leaking at the tip.

Matthew stares down at him, taking him in. He looks at a loss to the point where it’s incredibly endearing.

“Give me your hand.” He instructs. Matthew watches on, blinking with fascination and confusion as Clayton spits into the Reverend’s palm. He guides his wrist down, down, and helps wrap his trembling fingers around himself. He sighs at the pleasant touch and keeps his hand overtop his.

“It’s easy once you get the hang of it.” He murmurs. The angle is slightly awkward, as is the addition of another hand but he’s not complaining. Not when he gets a front row seat to look at him this close. Admire the way his lashes fan against his red cheeks when he blinks, can drink in his open expressions.

He coaxes him into moving his hand, stroking him, and helps keep his grip firm. Mumbles words of encouragement into his ear. He finally, finally can sink his teeth into the soft and supple skin of his throat, biting and sucking at his Adam's apple. Right where his white collar usually sits. He can feel his elated pulse underneath his lips and the way his throat moves and quivers as he swallows. Moans at the sensations.

“You’re doing so good darlin', feels so good.” He all but purrs.

It doesn’t take him long to get there. Matthew is inexperienced but a quick learner, and he shakes and sighs in his lap as a thumb grazes over the tip of his dick. He can’t even bring himself to feel shamed at just how quickly it happens, not when it’s Matthew. That aching hot pleasure rolls over him like liquid gold, expanding until he’s arching his back and sobbing out his release. Toes curling as he twitches and clutches on hard to his sturdy shoulders.

Matthew watches it all, utterly captured in the way that he spills messily into their joined hands.

“Fucking hell.” Clayton says when his breathing finally comes back down. “You might just be a natural at this Reverend.”

He makes a noise in the back of his throat. “Matthew, please.”

“Fine, Matthew. You did good. Did real damn good.” He climbs back out of his lap only enough so that he can fish a handkerchief out of his pocket and clean their hands off. He doesn’t think he can stand at the moment.

“So, how does it feel?” He asks after awhile as they lay sprawled out together, panting as the sweat cools off their necks and foreheads. He tilts his head up and to the side to look at him properly. “Feel any different?”

“To be honest? Not really. I- don’t take that the wrong way. I enjoyed myself. Quite a bit actually.”

“Hmm. Yeah, I noticed that.” A pregnant pause. “So you don’t regret doing it?” He seems to be doing just fine, basking in the afterglow like everyone else does.

“No. I don’t think that I do. It was fun even.” He laughs softly and then looks to Clayton, expression morphing into something more serious. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do any of that.”

“I know.” He says, cursing the fact that his cheeks flush once more under his expression. Maybe if he’s lucky he’ll think it's just a trick of the flickering light. “And hey, it wasn’t the worst way to spend my night.” He quirks a smile to let him know that he’s teasing him.

Matthew’s eyes glow with mirth. “No, I suppose it’s not, is it?”

They fall back into silence once more, until eventually the crick in his neck becomes painful and he sits up with a groan.

“Well hell, it’s getting late. We should probably get to bed so we can keep up with the others tomorrow.” He stands even though his legs ache, and begins to strip down to his underclothes. He notices with amusement that Matthew averts his eyes, despite what had just transpired between them.

“Right, of course. I should probably head back to my room, then.”

“I mean, you could just sleep here for the night.” He says. “So nobody sees a man of the cloth walk out of a room that’s not his in the middle of the night. People talk.” He feels the need to tack that on.

“Oh, yes. That wouldn’t look good. Thank you. I’m sorry to prolong my welcome any more than necessary.”

Clayton shrugs a shoulder up and down. “I wouldn’t’ve offered if I gave a shit.”

They get ready for bed in silence. Sliding into bed with someone else feels odd, after spending so much time on his own. Running from place to place without much of a cause or reason. Even if he did partake in the occasional bed partner he would usually kick them out once they’re finished. But, it’s not the worst thing in the world.

“Well, goodnight Clayton.” Matthew says once they’re settled. He looks comfortable. Loose-limbed, shoulders relaxed. It’s a far cry from the usual way he carries himself; always alert and on edge. Nervous.

“Yeah, yeah. Goodnight.”

He honestly doesn’t know what prompts him to do it, really. It just happens. He leans over and kisses him. It’s different from the other one they shared. There’s no rush or heat, no tongue, no hands palming at clothing. It just is. The smile that Matthew sends him when they part, bright and full, kinda makes it worth it. He rolls over and extinguishes the bedside lamp before he can think about it too hard. Hears the Reverend shift and move behind him. The moon spills through the curtains and paints the floor with it’s glow. His gun is safely within reach on the nightstand beside him in case anything were to happen.

He sleeps, far deeper and sounder than usual. There’s no Dealer, no dreams about pointing people and whispering shadows. No appearances from Him. There’s nothing. Later, he’ll chalk it up to the tiring day that they had. To the sex that wore him out. He certainly won’t think it’s because of the warm weight of Matthew beside him, certainly not. But that’s later.

For now, he sleeps.

**Author's Note:**

> [Take Me To Church by Hozier playing in the background]
> 
> I have a Critical Role tumblr if you want to come scream with (or at) me about clayson or CR in general: https://baeuregard.tumblr.com/ Follows and likes come from my main blog shakenbaeky!
> 
> There's also an UnDeadwood discord about that savage_starlight made! Hit me up if you want to join in and talk about that Good Good Western show. (We got headcanons we got ships. It's not all NSFW so you don't worry about that either.)
> 
> Thanks for taking the time to read this fic, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated if you're so inclined! :]


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